


doesn't matter 'cause you give me temptation

by writing_addict



Series: called into battle and all of it shattered (but i'm aiming high not to lose you) [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Marvel Cinematic Universe Fusion, BAMF Edward Elric, BAMF Winry Rockbell, Ballroom Dancing, Banter, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Crime Fighting, Developing Relationship, Dorks in Love, Edward Elric Is A Little Shit, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Pet Names, Please be gentle, Post-Avengers (2012), Romance, Sexual Tension, Sparring, Two Shot, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but they sure come close, ed and winry are so thirsty for each other it's embarrassing, im actually not sure what to rate this because they dont actually fuck, it's my first time writing something like this in so much detail, so uh, thirst fic, very light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25117225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_addict/pseuds/writing_addict
Summary: Winry Rockbell, CEO of Rockbell Industries, Iron Queen, and resident Avenger, has developed feelings for a certain ex-assassin super-soldier. She has also developed a healthy appreciation for how very attractive he is (which is, pardon her French,very fucking hot).Edward Elric, ex-assassin, ex-HYDRA agent, recently made Avenger and resident lonely super-soldier, happens to reciprocate those feelings, and an equally healthy appreciation for how attractive Winry is (asking, Alphonse Elric has discovered, results in hours of gushing about her eyes and her muscles and her stupid jokes and horrible dancing).So naturally, the Avengers and MAES (local superheroes and world's only working learning AI) scheme to put these two in...situationsthat'll get them to figure out that these feelings are mutual. They certainly do not expect their friends to be such horny dumbasses about it--but hey, whatever it takes to get the job done, right?Or:Ed and Winry each think that the other is ridiculously attractive--and somehow, they both end up in positions where the other's attractiveness is on full display. God help them.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell
Series: called into battle and all of it shattered (but i'm aiming high not to lose you) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819333
Comments: 42
Kudos: 92





	1. just keep your body movin' how i like

**Author's Note:**

> no actual smut was written in the making of these, I swear
> 
> anyways marvel au is back, it's shaping up to be very ship-focused so we're gonna uhhhhh give edwin some good sexual tension because literally every fic I find like this are for ships that I find gross!!!! so uhhhhhhhh yeah in 2020 we're about taking care of what we see on our dash and in our own space!!!! also I fucking love this au so uh...y'all get more, and that edwin sexual tension. title is from ariana grande's "side to side" bc im finally over my "not like other girls" phase

Winry was good at a lot of things—a _lot._ It came with being a genius, really. Her passion lay in technology, particularly clean energy and prosthetics, but she’d _also_ been playing violin and singing since she was four. Had been running a business—one of the world’s largest, most _powerful_ businesses—for over a decade, handled press conferences with aplomb, charmed and drove the public mad with every appearance she made. She made a mean cosmopolitan, won fifty-one percent of her arm-wrestling competitions overall (never against Paninya, though; her old friend had never let her win even when they were _dating)_ , was an expert frog-catcher, danced a mean waltz…

And, of course, recently became an expert (the only expert, she might add— _how’s that for ego, Salamander?)_ in ARC reactor technology, crawled out of the desert with nothing but a glowing heart in her chest and a suit made from a box of scraps, created the _true_ Iron Queen armor. Learned to fly, to _fight._ To go toe-to-toe with enhanced criminals, with off-world attackers, with her own team, if necessary. She’d always been somewhat versed in hand-to-hand (being kidnapped over two dozen times _before_ Afghanistan would push anyone to get involved in a bit of self-defense training), but she’d never been an _expert_ in it. Never had to be.

But now that she was an _Avenger,_ now that she was Iron Queen _(Iron Queen, yes, Winry Rockbell, not recommended)_ , “not-an-expert” wouldn’t stand on its own anymore. _She_ wouldn’t stand on her own if she couldn’t defend herself, with or without the suit—and she couldn’t _rely_ on the suit alone if she was going to fight this war.

It wasn’t a war. Not yet, not really, but—

_But—_

_Endless, drowning cold, the void of endless oblivion stretching above her—_

_A million ships, an infinite force waiting to attack—_

_Coming for Earth—_

_Coming for her people—_

That nuke she’d flown into the portal had done some damage, but Ling had been right. Maybe it wasn’t the Philosopher’s Stone that had convinced those forces coming for them that Earth was ready for this “higher form of war”, but the Avengers had turned back an invasion that the wider universe was convinced they could not have possibly fought. And they did it with only _six individuals._

And that explosion would only convince whoever had been gunning for them now that they were a higher challenge. That they would soon be _ready._

They weren’t. Not yet. Even if the rest of the team believed her, the United States was reluctant to believe that the invasion hadn’t been the one and only force gunning for them. If there hadn’t been video evidence, people likely wouldn’t believe that the invasion had even _happened._ No one wanted to think about alien technology wreaking havoc upon their safe little planet.

So right now, Winry had to do everything— _everything_ she could to ensure she was at the top of her game for when the real end came calling. So that when her actual enemy struck, she could strike back just as hard—

And _salt the earth with them._

And right now, that included throwing punches and practicing everything she’d been trained in until she could barely stagger forward a step. Maybe she’d never be super-soldier strong or enhanced-assassin fast, but if she could be at her best physically, that meant she’d be even more of a threat in the suit. More people were protected, she kept herself safer, kept her _team_ safer…wins all around, really.

Her closed fist slammed into the punching bag again—a normal punching bag, not the reinforced ones Al and Ed so often ploughed through—and she stepped back, shifted, curled her fingers again. _Thumb tucked on the outside. Knuckles take the brunt of the impact._ Her earliest lesson had served her well throughout college, fending off drunk kids who just say a pretty face or schemers who thought the way to her money was through her heart.

It hadn’t held up as well in Afghanistan—

_“You will build my missile for me, Rockbell.”_

_“Go to hell.”_

_Water in her mouth, her nose, her lungs, frantic gasps for air and the roars and jeers of men as she was shoved under once more, drowning, always drowning—_

But it had been dozens against an unsuited, terrified (but not helpless, never helpless) woman with a car battery sticking out of her chest, so maybe that had something to do with it. The ARC reactor seemed to twinge slightly at the memory, and she gritted her teeth, drawing her fist back as she stepped back with her right foot, then forward—s _tep—punch—_

Her hand impacted bandaged flesh instead of the familiar punching bag, and she blinked in confusion as a hand closed around hers—before shrieking as she was suddenly flipped over something ( _someone?)._ Their grip released halfway through the arc, leaving her weightless for a moment as she was flung toward the mat, before she instinctively flipped and rolled, landing in the familiar (dare she say, iconic Iron Queen) three-point-crouch, breathing hard. Adrenaline spiked through her veins, the world cold and clear as she let the shock of impact roll through her body and bolted up to face the attacker.

The attacker, who MAES hadn’t warned her about.

The attacker, who was grinning at her, a look of utter delight in his golden eyes as he slammed his metal fist into his bound palm.

The attacker, who was _Edward fucking Elric,_ looking as smug and delighted as a cat in a patch of sunlight, and as aggravatingly gorgeous as he ever did. Maybe because he had his shirt off. Probably because he had his shirt off, and also no longer had the HYDRA arm, instead sporting one she’d made herself. Also because his pretty blonde hair was pulled up into a loose bun and his eyes were doing this _thing_ that was somewhere between Fullmetal mode and the everyday, mostly friendly supersoldier and if she didn’t have a type before, oh _boy_ she had one now.

Relief swept through her, cooling the focused ire that burned right down to her fingertips—before indignant rage burst forth again. “You asshole, you scared the _shit_ out of me!” She aimed a punch at his shoulder out of pure instinct, before yelping as her wrist was grabbed and she was tugged off-balance, before he sent her lurching forward. The only reason she didn’t land flat on her face was his hands on her arm.

_Oh, this cannot be happening. This is HUMILIATING._

“MAES told me I might find you here,” Ed chirped, uncannily cheerful for a man currently holding a woman from mortification-by-faceplant by her arm. She was twisted up to face him, before he set her on her feet, his hands resting on her waist as he effortlessly tipped her up again. Like she weighed _nothing._ It made her heart pound faster than she wanted to admit. “Figured you might want someone to actually practice with instead of working on a bag all the time.”

Winry managed to twist out of his grip after a moment, dancing away quickly before setting her hands on her hips, praying that he’d think the redness in her face was from exertion. That, and that he couldn’t hear her heartbeat right now. Fucking super-hearing. “You could’ve asked instead of scaring me to death,” she complained. _Don’t check him out. Have some self-respect, Rockbell. Don’t check out your second-best friend’s brother that used to be a brainwashed HYDRA agent._

She was finding it very hard not to check out her second-best friend’s brother that used to be a brainwashed HYDRA agent. Now that she wasn’t scared for her life or dangling in any precarious positions, she could finally appreciate how _good_ he looked now. Sure, Ed had been attractive when Al had first tracked him down and brought him in, but he’d also been rail-thin and skittish and greasy. Now it was like looking at—at a _lion,_ tawny skin and golden eyes, full of a delicious, playful arrogance that matched her own. And _god,_ with his hair tied back _like that_ and everything from above the waist on full display…

Winry was so very fucked, and she had a sneaking suspicion MAES was aware of it. Her eyes flicked over him again, a little more slowly, this time lingering on his new arm. It wasn’t the sleek, insidious creature of scale-shaped metal that it had been before, oh no. This one was one-hundred percent BellTech. One-hundred percent _automail,_ the first prosthetic of its kind. Light, durable, and hard-hitting, built for combat without causing unnecessary pain to the user.

Automail. _Her_ automail.

Of course, it was really _Ed’s_ now, but some primal, vicious thing in her _purred_ whenever she saw Ed with it on display—as if him having it made him hers. Which was ridiculous, considering that automail was becoming more and more available to the public, and while it wasn’t necessarily a popular choice due to the intensive attachment process, it was certainly being viewed as an increasingly viable option. But that…that _piece_ of her saw Ed wearing that automail she’d so painstakingly created and hissed, _mine._

“Yeah,” she said after a moment, swallowing—when had her mouth gotten that dry?—and meeting his eyes. “Yeah, I would. Though I’d appreciate a warning next time, buttercup.”

Something flashed in his eyes, and she stiffened slightly, worried she’d hit a nerve—before something in her went buttery and weak at the look of feline delight in those damning golden eyes. “You improve or you die.”

“Remind me which one of us is ‘The Futurist’ again?”

He arched an eyebrow before stalking around behind her. Winry did her best not to tense as a hand glided slowly over her arm, raising it up and holding it out as though she’d just thrown a punch. “Make a fist,” he murmured, and that _voice_ should have in no way been allowed to be as velvety and smooth as it was. _Hot damn._ “Fighting stance. Show me.”

Slowly, she curled her fingers, drawing her arm back smoothly until it was tucked at her side, palm facing up as the other hand stretched out to defend. The traditional “stance” she’d learned usually left her palm facing down flat on that side, but she kept it open, facing out as though she was aiming a repulsor blast. She stepped back smoothly until both her striking fist and her stepping foot were tucked back, before glancing over her shoulder as the hand on her arm moved with her. Another hand settled on the small of her back, and she blinked, before twisting around the arch an eyebrow up at him, and— _was that a blush on his face?_

It was gone again a moment later as he flicked her shoulder lightly. “Face forward, dummy.”

“I have seven PhDs, goldilocks. Bite me.”

“Don’t tempt me. Widen your stance—left foot back and to the left a bit more. It’s too easy to take you off balance like—” Winry tried not to shriek as her arm was whipped out and tugged, left distracted by that _don’t tempt me_ , leaving her pinned against the mat. She peeked up at him, her face reddening when she saw the wolfish grin on his face. “ _That.”_

_Sonuva—_

_Alright. I’ll play._

She went limp for a moment, closing her eyes and muttering a halfhearted barb about _stupid super-soldiers_ —before twisting her wrists out of his grip rapidly and flipping over, kneeing him in the gut. The surprised yelp she startled out of him was _music_ to her ears, and she slid out of his grip with a crow of victory. “Too easy to take you off balance, soldier,” she drawled, grinning as she sank into a combat stance again and blowing him a kiss. “How about you show me whatcha got, hm?”

Dazed golden eyes blinked up at her—before sharpening with feral amusement as Ed pushed himself to his feet with a laugh. “Show you mine if you show me yours.”

And she knew this meant sparring, she _knew_ nothing was going to happen other than that—but she couldn’t help cocking her head to the side and crooking her fingers at him. _Come get some, motherfucker._

The world became a blur of adrenaline and sparkling gold and the steady _thud, thud, thud_ of one or both of them impacting the mat. He got her more than she got him—super-soldier vs. plain, baseline human being—but she _did_ get him, darting under the occasional blow to sucker-punch him in the solar plexus or pulling one of Riza’s favorite moves and wrapping her thighs around his neck to throw him to the ground. She heard laughter, wild and eager, and wasn’t quite sure whether it was coming from him or from her, but it didn’t _matter._ Nothing mattered right now, except the _fight,_ except this wild energy, except—

Winry gasped as she was slammed against the wall, her hair long-since having fallen out of its low ponytail. The orange scrunchie was wedged between two mats somewhere, but she didn’t _care_ about it, or about anything. Not with those powerful, mismatched arms on either side of her (one of them marking him as _hers, hers, HERS),_ not when his eyes were blazing with triumph, nearly incandescent with wild, aureate light, and a fierce grin was steadily overtaking his face. Not with the heat flooding through her body at every cord of muscle she saw (or _felt,_ with how close he was), every spark of wicked daring in his voice as he purred, “Do you yield, _moya korolyeva?”_

_My queen._

_Oh, you sexy sonuvabitch._

A mischievous smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and she leaned forward, his lips barely a breath away from hers. “Sorry, soldier,” she murmured, one hand curling lightly in his hair and tugging gently as the other stroked a thumb over his cheek. “I don’t kneel for anyone. Not even you.”

Something flickered in Ed’s eyes—surprise, intrigue, _desire—_ but she ignored it in favor of closing that teeny-tiny gap between them, pressing her lips to his. It was a soft, chaste thing, light and gentle despite that _thing_ inside her itching to _devour him, make him yours, make him use that pretty, insolent mouth—_

Winry nipped lightly at his bottom lip and drew away, ducking under his arm and plucking her scrunchie out from the mats it was stuck in. “See you tomorrow, gorgeous,” she called over her shoulder, snatching her sweatshirt off the peg and tugging it over her head. She strode down the hall, bare feet tapping lightly against cold tile as she inhaled slowly, then exhaled.

“MAES, let him know that if he wants to go a little _further_ next time…he has access to the gym on my floor as well as the communal one.”

She paused, and, because she was Winry Rockbell and damn the consequences for anything else, added, “Let him know his _queen_ would be _very_ pleased if he did.”


	2. the way you got me under your spell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed has Feelings for Winry, and when I say feelings, I mean sappy worshipful "oh my god she's a terrifying murderous genius tech queen", and we love that for him.
> 
> Or:
> 
> Ed and Winry attend a gala. Ed has a heart attack about 9 times over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY BACK AND THIS IS WHERE THE GALA TAGS COME IN, I PROMISE, WE HAVE DANCING AND LOTS OF ED GUSHING OVER WINRY. But seriously, there is so much gushing happening here, and Winry knows it. She knows damn well. We're on team "get these losers to kiss" and guess what, it's gonna HAPPEN. 
> 
> title is from "touch" by little mix

Despite his steady increase in confidence since his little brother found him and brought him—well, sort-of home, though he wasn’t sure calling the living-slash-work-space of a woman whose parents he’d murdered _home_ was the right thing to do—there was still a lot Ed had to learn about how the Avengers (of which he was one? Maybe? Kind of? Unofficially, at least) operated. About how their _leaders_ operated. As much as they insisted that they were all on equal footing, Ed had been trained to notice these things for _over seventy years,_ to analyze the patterns among groups for weak links and pick them apart. He wasn’t looking to destroy them, god no, but you couldn’t just switch yourself out of something you’d been focused on for seven decades that easily.

Besides, it was almost impossible to notice that everyone looked to his brother in battle. To his brother—and to _her._

Her being Winry Rockbell. Her being the woman who’d greeted him with a repulsor to the face as soon as he’d been brought in, tears streaming down her cheeks as she demanded he say her parents’ names. _Sarah. Urey._ Al had hovered by his side, looking unsure of who he’d defend—he’d told Winry as soon as he’d found out (as soon as Ed had remembered, and Ed was damn glad for it, because if his brother had become the kind of person to lie like _that_ he would have punched him) and was clearly sympathetic to her fury, but Ed was his _brother_ who he’d thought was dead. Ed privately thought that if she’d blasted him, he would have let it happen. It was the least of what he deserved after what he’d taken from her.

Instead she’d lowered the repulsor and told him _Don’t you dare forget them, Edward Elric, because you took that luxury away from me,_ and stalked off. And Ed—Ed felt the same way he had when he’d encountered a saw-scaled viper in the midst of a mission. The serpent had watched him, baring its fangs, and he had stared back with a hand on his gun, waiting for the bite. Instead, it had slithered away in silence, and let him be, with only that strange recognition of mutual deadliness between them.

He hadn’t expected to become friends with her at _any_ point, figured the most they’d reach was a mutual tolerance, but two months in (and two months into some form of counseling, she’d informed him eventually), she’d started talking to him. Coming up with nicknames, teasing him when he came down to the workshop with Al or Izumi or Roy. And after his arm started acting up, he’d dared to approach her, and then…

Then they’d wound up training together and working together on prosthetic tech, coming up with inside jokes and half-flirting with each other. She’d started introducing him to modern music, everything from bubblegum pop to metal and rock, even letting him compile a playlist that she would put on whenever they were in the workshop together. She’d reignited his love of science, the same passion that HYDRA had killed, and—

And he’d fallen in love with _her_ somewhere along the way.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when, for all that he could read people, for all that he’d learned how to trick a mark and find the leader of the pack. No matter how much he analyzed it, no matter how much he wished he could look back at his memories the same way MAES could bring up footage of different battles during debriefs to help the team figure out how to improve, it always just came down to _everything._ The teasing lilt to her voice when she called him _buttercup,_ or traded insults with him and Roy in perfect Russian. Her singing when she worked in the lab, belting out every chorus in a voice that rang of a classically trained singer who said _fuck it_ and found heavy metal. The way she’d nitpick the science in sci-fi movies, and then just as easily take inspiration from it ( _lightsabers,_ she’d told him after she’d made him and Al watch Star Wars, were one overnight workshop binge away from being a reality). Her fingers, calloused and rough from years of hard work. Her arms and chest and legs, covered with the scars that marked her a survivor. The way she tilted her head when he said something stupid, her eyes amused and her smile fond and teasing. The way she blushed right down to the back of her neck whenever he managed to catch her off guard, which, for an assassin with decades of experience, was shockingly rare.

And that was _without_ ever having the experience of fighting alongside her. Come to think of it, maybe that was when he’d _really_ fallen, head-over-heels, only star in the sky, eternal-pining style—when he’d seen her in full armor, blasting through an entire platoon of hostile robots and laughing as she did, keeping up a playful “kill count” with Ling as the two airborne team members swooped and dived in mesmerizing circles. When she’d pulled her helmet off after the flight, her hair still tied up in its ponytail and sticking to her cheeks and neck, her blue eyes blazing like the arc reactor in her chest as she strode across the battlefield and clasped the Xingese prince’s forearm, a gesture he’d learned was shared between warriors on the far-off planet. When she’d shot him a wicked, wild grin and heading off to call the paramedics and the authorities and promise them their full cooperation and access to whatever they needed.

Fighting next to her, hearing her laughter in his ear, seeing all that passion and love and rage turned into clear focus and deadly certainty…it was an assassin’s dream. A monster’s dream, perhaps, but Ed was kept emotionless, silent, alone for _seventy years,_ and yet he wonders how dangerous he’d be if he’d been like Winry. If HYDRA had used his emotions as fuel.

It would have backfired—he needed to not care in order to do his job, and perform it as the _Asset,_ but watching her dance through squadrons of enemies, burning and breaking and blasting and arguing with Roy and She-Hulk over what theme music this particular battle deserved… It was like looking upon a goddess, though whether she was creation or destruction he wasn’t sure. Perhaps both. Perhaps all, and perhaps none.

Life or death, he wanted to worship her just the same.

(Only he, Ed would reflect later, would fall in love with someone because of how dangerous they were—but then, he’d never been able to stay away from danger. Chasing snakes through the grass in Risembool’s valleys, throwing himself into the war to support his brother, being freed from HYDRA, and now falling in love with one of the most powerful women in the world— _just his luck.)_

Then they’d sparred, one-on-one and not surrounded by the others as usual, and Ed—Ed had needed a long, cold shower after that, so close to doing _so much_ and yet barely holding back. And when he’d been given an invitation to return, well—

He hadn’t worked up the courage, yet, but it was clear that his little brother was tired of watching him dance around this, because he’d quite firmly said that Ed would be attending the Sarah Rockbell Foundation Gala as Winry’s plus-one, convinced them both that it was good publicity, and now…well, here they were.

And really, Ed had seen Winry in formal wear before. He’d had an embarrassing phase, halfway out of HYDRA’s control and wandering around lost as Al tried to track him down, where he’d latched onto a person he’d recognized more than his brother (because his heart knew Al, but Ed hadn’t listened to his heart in _seventy years,_ and he was terrified doing so would get him hurt again). He’d seen her face in a magazine, the same face he’d watched in HYDRA’s stolen footage of the woman who had once been a potential Asset and was now a terrible enemy, and he’d swiped the magazine right off the counter and barely remembered to pay. It had been some sort of fashion mag, or a gossip one, but she’d been wearing a beautiful navy-blue gown that made her look commanding and severe and wicked, her article talking about the struggles of being a woman in STEM and how it had been going through college when she was supposed to be in high school.

He didn’t want to admit that he might have developed a little baby crush right then, but he’d certainly developed one in full when he found another one with her in a _suit._

But seeing her in front of him in full white-tie gala wear…

That was an entirely different beast.

She was wearing red—a deep, stunning red that bled to black, the same glistening half-metallic shimmer of the Iron Queen armor (and though he knew it was _her_ color, some part of that long-lost soldier who’d dragged an ugly-ass red coat around to every fight purred _mine, mine, mine),_ silvery cuffs shimmering around her wrists. Matching rings sat on her middle fingers, fingerless “gloves” that he knew were really _gauntlets_ glimmering ruby and garnet on her fair skin. Another slim band of silvery metal wound around her throat, marking the high, regal neckline of the gown, the back open and the arc reactor gleaming blue in her chest. Her hair was braided loosely in some intricate, gorgeous updo that Ed was terrified to touch and yet desperate to ruin, and—

And, well, most Winry-ish of all, a slim silver circlet nestled on her brow like a crown, the bright metal offsetting the magnificent colors.

They’d called her the Bride of Death, he remembered distantly, doing his best not to gape at her. _What a stupid name._ She was clearly Death itself. How else could she have stopped his heart so quickly?

“You—you l-look,” he managed, cursing himself inwardly as they stepped out of the limousine ( _an entire limousine)_ and onto the stairs leading up to the ballroom. “You look _incredible._ Like a knife.” _Oh. I suck at this._ “A—a really nice knife.”

_Great. So you’re poetic and romantic in your head, but when it comes to actually TELLING her, you clam up? Great job, Elric. What happened to that charming bastard you used to be, huh? Where’d he go?_

He barely avoided tripping as she tilted her head back and laughed, scarlet lips glistening under the lights. “Aw, buttercup, you nervous? It’s no different than fighting robots, promise. More annoying, actually, but still—s’an excuse to look all fancy.” She patted his shoulder, lips quirking up in amusement. “And if I look like a sexy knife, honey, you look like the sleekest damn handgun I’ve ever seen.”

Ed’s eyes widened, and he jerked his eyes away from hers quickly, focusing on just getting through the door. “Thank you,” he murmured sheepishly, his voice laced with a hint of the accent he’d had for decades now—he was good at switching between languages and voices to trick people, but the Russian still popped out whenever he got nervous. And Winry managed to make the world’s deadliest assassin _nervous._ “Not as good as you, though.”

“Seriously?” She bumped her shoulder playfully against his metal one, before whirling around as they entered and loosening his tie slightly. “I don’t know whether Roy and Riza purposely made sure we were coordinated or whatever, but you look _excellent_ in red and gold. Sets those pretty eyes of yours right off.”

“Because my eyes _are_ gold,” he grumbled, ducking his head and hoping his bangs hid his face. He knew that he cleaned up pretty nicely, especially with the two _other_ master assassins on the team bothering him, but it felt entirely different hearing it from _her._ “And I like red.”

She laughed, patting his cheeks lightly with calloused fingers before taking his arm again. “I know you do, love. I’ve seen the pictures of that shitty coat.”

“It was _cool.”_

“It was the 1920s version of emo and you know it, Elric.”

He did, but it was the _principle_ of the thing—though he supposed bickering about this was better than admitting that he was having a _very_ hard time keeping his eyes off her as she slipped gracefully over to the bar. Winry was always in motion, always talking, vibrant and beautiful, but there was a new elegance to her movements as she practically glided across the floor, schmoozing with whoever dared speak to her without hesitation. She commanded the room like no one he’d ever seen, and he’d been in the presence of queens and prime ministers and presidents, activists and soldiers, monsters and men—and she did it all in bloodred heels and the equivalent of a miniaturized star glowing in her chest.

He was so, so _gone_ on her.

“Here, love—” his heart stopped in his chest at the words, _love, love, she called me love_ “—let’s toast before we dance and donate the night away, yeah?” She pressed some shimmering, colorful cocktail into his hand, holding a similar one in her own—red and gold in hers, dark blue and silver in his. “Plus the caterer came up with these _divine_ little Avengers-themed cocktails. I’ve got my Iron Queen courage right here.” She raised the glass with a grin, wine-red lips curving mischievously.

It took him a moment to form words again—a little more than a moment, dazzled by the sight of her under the gleaming lights, leaning up against the bar counter. Her scars were on full display, no effort made to hide the powerhouse cloaked in silk and satin, like a stiletto blade wrapped in a shimmering ivory sheath. Beautiful and deadly and _intoxicating._ “I can’t get drunk,” he said instead, even as he raised the glass to his lips and took a sip. “Remember?”

“No reason you can’t enjoy the taste of alcoholic art, Goldilocks,” she drawled, sipping at hers. Heat flushed through his body as she tilted her head back, blonde hair falling in alluring little waves down her shoulders and back, the movement of her tongue along the sugary rim of the glass utterly maddening. Her eyes closed slowly, a catlike smile still on her face, and he wondered suddenly what she’d do if he pressed a kiss to her neck, if he swept her up into his arms, if they ditched this whole place and ran out into the city and—

He downed the drink quickly, barely noticing the taste of it as he tried to hide his blush. _Not the mission, Elric, focus._ He was here as her plus-one. They were representing not only the Avengers, but Rockbell Industries. He had to be a perfect gentleman, or—well, whatever people expected a rehabilitated assassin to be.

A hand landed on his arm and he blinked, before looking down (not much, but enough that the more…height-sensitive part of him cheered in victory) into shining blue eyes. Winry pursed her lips in a pout (the urge to kiss them was growing ever-stronger, goddamnit) and leaned up against him. “They had the first dance without me,” she complained, but her eyes glinted with amusement. “Terribly rude of them.”

“You did get here late.” To avoid the majority of the paparazzi—no matter how well Winry handled the reporters, she knew he hated the bright flashing lights and had set up their entrance specifically to avoid him feeling overwhelmed. Which just made him feel…ridiculously warm and fuzzy. Like, seriously, it was embarrassing.

She huffed playfully. “Everyone knows the host and her date arrive fashionably late, buttercup. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

Ed arched an eyebrow, but set the empty glass down. “You going somewhere with this, _moya korolyeva?”_

 _My queen._ He hadn’t called her that since that night in her floor’s gym, when she’d told him she wouldn’t kneel for anyone. That was fine by him—he’d happily kneel before her any goddamn day, any way she liked. She seemed to appreciate the nickname, but he’d worried that maybe it was coming on too strong, so he hadn’t said it until—well, now.

And she _shivered._ Shivered, and flushed pink just a bit, and he stared with wide eyes as she brought his palm to her lips before tugging him toward the dance floor. “I’m saying that if we didn’t get the first dance,” she answered, the light of the arc reactor casting her face in eerie blue as she glanced over her shoulder at him, “then we should at least have the _best_ one.”

Oh.

_Oh._

This was her revenge, her turnabout, her reverse card for _that night._ He couldn’t look away, wrapping his arms around her as she swept into the middle of the floor, as commanding and regal as an empress and mischievous as the same god she’d battled with little more than words and unholy wrath at the death of Agent Falman. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t _think_ about anything but _her—_ shining under the glittering lights like a star, her hands guiding his down to her hips as she began to lead, her arms wound around his shoulders and her eyes half-lidded and glowing.

Ed was a skilled dancer, a skilled fighter—he’d been using those skills to infiltrate and kill for years. But this dance was like—like holding fire and starlight in his hands, chasing it as it swept around him in circles, swirling like a galaxy all her own. Strength and beauty and passion and raw _life._

His _queen._

She spun under his arm, pressed her back up against his chest, moving so fluidly and gracefully that he could barely keep up—but he _did_ keep up, leaning into every movement, lifting her and twirling her, red and black skirts spinning over marble floors as they moved in perfect tandem, a mortal trying to hold a goddess as she called him home. Called him to her heart, to her soul, to— _everything._

The song slowed, drew to an end—and Winry was pressed up against his chest again, and he was leaning down, and they were barely a breath apart. Her hand cupped his cheek, and he closed his eyes, leaning forward and exhaling softly as he pressed his forehead against hers. “ _Moya korolyeva,”_ he repeated, his breathing ragged. _“Ya tvoy?” Am I yours, my queen?_

Too forward, maybe—much too forward—but he _wanted_ to be.

And instead of rejection, her thumb stroked over his cheek, his eyes opening to meet beautiful, fathomless electric blue. _“Moy soldat,”_ she whispered—

And then she was kissing him, and he could taste nothing, feel nothing but _her,_ like lightning and liquor and metal and citrus, intoxicating and sweet, and maybe he couldn’t get drunk off of those drinks she’d brought him but he felt like he could live off the taste of her alone for a thousand years. He leaned back in, momentarily forgetting where they were, who they were, everything but _Winry._

She pulled away eons too soon, and he gasped for breath as those wine-red lips curved into a stiletto-blade smile. _“Ty moy,”_ Winry Rockbell breathed as the music ended. _You are mine, my soldier._

It felt like a promise.

…Ed was going to need a _cold, cold_ shower by the end of this night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you were promised kisses and russian and you have received both. as well as copious prose, because i am nothing if not a sucker for men loving their dangerous wives. i hope you guys enjoyed it too! i'll probably have more for this au soon, it's just so fun to write. leave a comment and/or a kudos if you enjoyed it, and i'll see you next time (probably when im IN COLLEGE!!!!)! lots of love <3

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this! Leave a comment and/or a kudos if you enjoyed it (because I certainly loved writing it), and I'll see you guys next time ;)
> 
> ALSO if you want ways to donate to BLM, help protesters, and show your support, you can passively donate by watching videos like Zoe Amira's stream to donate! You don't even have to watch the video (though I quite enjoy it), you just have to let it play in the background and not skip ads. Keep watching, keep learning, keep listening!


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